


The Devil's Salvation

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: John the Devil's Martyr [1]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: American Revolution, BAMF John, Bane is 18th Century Heathcliff, Light Bondage, M/M, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane is a mercenary hired to lead a band of militants against the American colonists during the Revolutionary War. </p><p>John is a young but talented militiaman notorious for bringing the British army to its knees time and again with his small band of rebels. And he's just become Bane's “captive.” </p><p>Neither man could be more thrilled by the prospect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Salvation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whalebarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebarf/gifts).



> Annnnnnnnnd this came from a little story time request that turned into so much more. 
> 
> So much fun. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> [Beta'd by Janejenajeny in all her infinite glory.]

++++

 

John’s knees ached on the damp grass. He wanted to push his wet hair out of his face but couldn’t. It wasn’t that his hands were tied, that wasn’t a problem. Getting away with freeing himself, under the constant gaze of so many hungry, older redcoats _—_ that would be the hassle.

His captor—Crane-something, John couldn’t remember his title; it didn’t matter—The young, pompous man pushed past the tent flaps, leaving with a red cheek and his pride hurt. “I swear,” the man spit, “it was a bloody mistake hiring animals to corral a few unruly colonists. Take that one,” he pointed at John, “inside and let the beast have him.”

They dropped him in a corner and quickly left him with the large, masked man. Alone in the bear’s den as it were, John worked vigorously to untie his wrist with nimble fingers.

“I’ll have to admit, Mr. Blake,” the beast rumbled behind a makeshift desk littered with maps and letters, “this is quite an elaborate scheme you’ve conjured.”

John chuckled, standing and massaging his wrist as his neared Bane’s back. “Thank you, sir…I suppose? You’re an awful lot bigger than the letters wrote, but I’ll have to tell the others that I’m truthfully a bit unimpressed.”

At that, Bane stood, towering overhead, his crude metal mask shining dull like a blacksmith’s hammer in the firelight. “ _Unimpressed_?” His voice no doubt sent chills up the young American’s spine. “You break my heart, little rebel. Perhaps I should decline your captain’s offer to work on your side,” his fingers circled the little ringlets of John’s hair around his shoulders. “What a pity.”

John caught his massive hand in both of his, wondering just what these mercenaries must have been fed to grow up into such titans. “I never said I was un _interested_ , only unimpressed. And first impressions are everything.”

Bane eyes were alight with mirth as he circled John. “Lucky for me,” he said, “our correspondences count as proper introductions. And we’ve done more than introduce ourselves in those letters, haven’t we, John?”

John felt a little weak-kneed when Bane’s arm circled his waist with an iron grip. All calmly controlled lust, no malice at all, just as he’d imagined. What would the British think if they knew their secret weapon was a rebel sympathizer— _and_ a deviant?

He turned John and pressed him to the edge of his desk. John’s smirk was very telling. “I bet I could change your mind, John,” Bane rumbled, “I could still inspire a bit of awe within you, little rebel.”

John couldn’t help but gasp, feeling the true might of Bane's manhood, barely contained in his trousers, pressed up against John with the heat of a furnace.

“I remember you once wrote that you hated these kinds of ceremonies. All fancy talk and no action,” John whispered, his hand delving beneath the waistline before him, making Bane growl with pleasure. He would need both hands to wrestle Bane’s heavy member out into the air. He was quite impressed now.

“Yes,” Bane’s breath puffed over John’s face when he buried his metal mouth into the man’s shoulder. “Too much time spent with the British, I fear.” When John’s hips bucked forward, he allowed the slender American to drop to his knees, freeing his heat into the cool damp air of the tent. “What are your feelings now, John?”

John glanced up through his lashes, a dimple creeping into his cheek when he smirked. Bane’s length was nearly as long as John’s little face, his hands hardly able to hold the solid length. Bane would never doubt again whether the American cause was worth it; John was definitely worth it.

Bane had John shaking in his boots, impatient to undress and seal their contract to the patriotic tune of smacking flesh and muffled sighs.

“I’m honestly disappointed,” John answered at last, eyes still lost in the beauty before him. At Bane’s surprised expression he explained, “There’s absolutely no way I can fit all this in my mouth, Bane.”

Bane growled, “What a shame, my little rebel.”

John’s smile must have come straight from the devil himself. “I can always still try.”

Bane fought the urge to push more of his cock into John’s mouth. “You sinful tease. My employer has demanded you be tortured for information.”

John licked his lips and rose to his feet. “In that case,” he said, “we can certainly do better than this.” Bane watched him undress with rapt attention. “Enough with the pleasantries, Bane,” John muttered, kicking off his boots.

He reclined on the table as if he were sunbathing, his legs spread like a harlot for the mercenary. His command was a simple whisper but it ensnared Bane beyond rescue when John touched his own flesh. “Torture me.”

+

 

Bane stepped back, righting his clothes, his hunger plain as day. “Get off my desk.”

“What new game is this?” John stood and was moved back to the center of the tent.

Bane grinned behind his mask, tying his dark hair back in a ribbon and removing his gloves. “Would it qualify as punishment if I asked your permission to use you first, John?”

John could offer no rebuttal. He watched as Bane left the tent long enough to send the guards off. The man returned with a pail of water and sat it down near John’s feet. “Are you… going to _wash_ me, Bane?”

The mercenary chuckled, content to kneel over the pail. “Little rebel, you sound indignant.” Bane started with his feet and worked his way up, eyes soaking in as much of John’s body as the water in his washcloth. “You are covered in cannon smoke and gunpowder. And you smell of horses and other men. If you are mine, I must keep you as clean as I keep myself.”

“You certainly know how to romance your boy proper, dear Bane.”

Bane paused, his eyes bright and surprisingly fond as he met John’s flat gaze. “I care.”

“I’m touched.” John rolled his eyes but didn’t complain when Bane’s soapy hands massaged his lower back and up his shoulders. He even cleaned under his nails. Bane was nothing if not entirely unusual; however, it would be a lie to say John didn’t enjoy his meticulous pampering.

“Good as new,” Bane observed when he finished. John was quite beautiful without dried blood on his hands. “Now, where to begin?” The table was swept clean. Bane threw his heavy coat across its surface before pushing John onto his stomach.

“Well,” John offered, “you can start by combing out the knots you’ve put in my hair.”

Bane rummaged through an old crate. “I am your host, little rebel, not your maid.” He returned with rope. “And I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” John eagerly nodded. “You’ve done this before?” he teased, trembling from Bane’s manhandling more than the cold.

“Rest assured, no man envies you in this camp, John.” He tied the rope from the American’s limbs to the four table legs, ignoring the spilled ink and rumpled papers on the ground. “They think I’m going to cut you up and eat you if you don’t talk.”

John tilted his head innocently to one side, testing the rope—tied much more securely than Crane’s men had been capable of. He might actually have to _try_ to escape this time. “But you _are_ going to eat me, aren’t you? The tale of Bane the Butcher is that you were too horrible for even the Devil to handle so he spit you out.”

“From the darkest depths of hell,” Bane hummed, pleased with his new table decoration. “Where are the rest of your men hiding?” He placed his vial of olive oil down where John could see it.

“They’re stationed near the old mill pond. You may write in your notes that there are only ten of us there and,” he paused, taking in the warmth of Bane’s hand petting his back. “And, that I have volunteered to lead your men right to the spot in exchange for my life.”

His breath hitched when Bane trailed a hand down his spine and over the curve of his ass. John’s downy flesh between his thighs was as soft as a woman’s. “Crane wants your head on a stake, little rebel. How should I arrange that?”

John’s back arched when Bane began milking his cock in a slow rhythm. “The fable is wrong,” he moaned. “You aren’t an agent of the devil, you _are_ the devil.” Bane showed his gratitude by carefully cutting off John’s air and stroking him harder, painting oval bruises in a patter across his neck. “Don’t worry, Bane. I will execute a cunning escape, of course. My ankle is almost free.”

It was. Surprised, Bane paused his ministrations long enough to resecure it. He plucked a candle from the candelabra on a stack of crates. “You can’t get away that easily.” He reveled in John’s pained yelp when little droplets of wax rained on his lower back. Bane’s free hand resumed his leisurely stroking. John hiccupped a sob as wax dripped down his ass between his cheeks.

“Now,” Bane continued, “how many men are actually at the mill?”

“Forty-two,” the American moaned, twisting away from the burning heat running down his thigh and bucking into Bane’s hand. “Tell your men to look for us in the trees and up the hill so you can scatter when they…they…”

“When they come?” Bane supplied, setting the candle back in its place. He soothed a hand over the hardened wax trails on John’s skin. “You’re lucky. I normally whip my captives with my riding crop.”

John moaned again. “Oh, the devil wishes for me to spill my seed much too soon with such suggestions. That would be a shame.”

Bane squeezed bruises into his hips. “Do you wish for a proper beating, then?” He smacked John’s ass in warning.

John’s smile returned when he caught his breath. “I think you need no more excuses to crush me. This poor table,” he lamented, tugging at his restraints again for good measure.

“I built this table.” Bane slicked his fingers in the oil. “It is quite sturdy.” He was very proud.

“Then shall I pity myself instead, over your table?” If he could just touch Bane, or even see him…

Bane was taken aback by John’s tightness, fearful of a sudden that he might hurt the boy even as John tried to get more of him inside. “Over the table, under the table, whichever you prefer,” he mused. “John?”

“Yes, my Bane,” the American breathed, and took his lip between his teeth when he was stretched wider.

“You may never walk again when I’m done with you,” Bane’s voice rumbled. He freed his cock and let it rest on John’s ass. “But take comfort in knowing that your martyrdom was for a valiant cause.”

“Then this devil’s martyr wishes, _begs_ even, that you not prolong my death much longer, Bane. Take me now and I will tell you where we’ve hidden the weapons stockpiles,” he promised sweetly. “Please?”

That was the last straw. Bane had John on his tiptoes and biting grooves into the desk as he opened John with his slick cock in agonizing increments, his grip on the American’s hips near painful.

Bane’s hand returning to his cock made him forget his name, forget everything except the need to take more of Bane, to take every ounce the man offered. Bane moved with the upmost care, so patient, so annoyingly patient whilst John crumbled beneath the firm, wide hand splayed over his lower back.

The mercenary had to cover John’s mouth. He was drowning in the baptism of pleasure washing over him and couldn’t care what any passing redcoats may hear. He was near raptures, writhing against the rope but could go no farther than Bane’s hands allowed.

With slow, deliberate thrusts Bane did, indeed, consume John. And all the while, Bane found himself enamored and at the mercy of the boy he claimed with each racing heartbeat, feeling John’s climax in glorious undulations, Bane’s name on the tip of his sharp tongue.

Bane met his own release knowing that he would truly follow John Blake through the bloodiest of battles, to hell and back, if it meant keeping him this close.

Letters simply didn’t do their passion justice. His name sighed like a prayer from John’s lips could very well be the gateway to this devil Bane’s salvation.

 

++

**Author's Note:**

> For questions, inspiration tags, and more for this fic and others, visit grizzly-bear-bane.tumblr.com


End file.
